Because of You
by InfinityStar
Summary: He was slipping again, only this time, she wasn't there to pull him back. This time, she was going to let him fall. Postep to The War at Home.
1. On the Edge of Uncertainty

**A/N: Okay, this is my first post-ep story. I kinda know where it's going, just not certain how to take it there. But we'll get there; we always do.**

**_Because of You_ is by Kelly Clarkson.**

* * *

_Fire me! I don't care..._

At the time, she had been so hurt and so angry with him, she'd failed to react. When Ross looked at her for some sort of clue, she'd had none to offer. Quietly, the captain said, "He had best get his act together, or I am not going to have a choice. Tell him that, Eames."

She watched the captain cross the room to his office and close the door. _Tell him that. _Right. What made Ross think she was going to talk to him? Right now, she had no intention of seeking out her difficult partner. Let him go ahead and brood; he'd brought this on himself. She was tired. Resentfully, she sat down to start on the paperwork they should have been doing together. _Damn it, Bobby.

* * *

_

She was finally sleeping, with the help of a powerful sedative. She hadn't stopped talking about getting the hell out of there before the damn doctors killed her. That's what they were trying to do, after all. They were all out to get her. And she hadn't let up on him for leaving her in their hands, either. She didn't want to hear that work took him away. She wanted him there, period. She was his mother and he had a duty to her. That was all that mattered. She wanted her son at her side. He was all she had.

He gently kissed her once she was well asleep, and he left, heading back toward Manhattan. She might yet have her way. He turned his phone on, and although he was disappointed, he wasn't surprised that there were no messages.

It had been a horrible day. Worse than horrible. Eames had never challenged him in an interrogation before. Always they had worked together. Even when they played good cop, bad cop, they were together. But now there was a rift between them, one he felt responsible for. And he had no idea how to fix it.

He couldn't bear to go home. So he drove down to Battery Park and walked along the harbor path. He stopped to look out across the black water, and he thought about his mother.

_I will not make the same mistakes that you did_

_I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery_

_I will not break the way you did_

_You fell so hard_

_I learned the hard way, to never let it get that far_

_Because of you _

_I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

_Because of you _

_I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_

_Because of you I find it hard to trust_

_Not only me, but everyone around me_

_Because of you_

_I am afraid_

He always played it safe in his life, never letting himself fully enter into a relationship with another person. He was always on the outside, looking in. He never felt a part of it, never gave himself over to it. There had been so much pain in his life, pain that continued to tear at his soul, that he was unwilling to ever open himself to more. He had been old enough to know what was going on when his father left. He remembered listening to his mother cry at night, going to her and comforting her. Sometimes, she would let him hold her until she went to sleep. Sometimes, though, she would turn on him, blaming him for driving Dad away. After all, it couldn't have been her. She was a good wife. It was the demons in their son that he couldn't take. Those nights were always bad.

But he survived. In some ways he was stronger for it. In some ways he was weaker.

_I lose my way_

_And it's not too long before you point it out_

_I cannot cry_

_Because I know that's weakness in your eyes_

_I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh_

_Every day of my life _

_My heart can't possibly break_

_When it wasn't even whole to start with_

_Because of you _

_I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

_Because of you _

_I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_

_Because of you I find it hard to trust_

_Not only me, but everyone around me_

_Because of you_

_I am afraid_

He had spent his childhood living on the edge of uncertainty, and he had never been able to fully eradicate that from his adult existence. In and out of her delusions, she turned to him for stability. He was seven...and then ten...and fourteen...and it never got any better, never any easier. After Dad left it only got worse. She never went to Frank, never leaned on him. No, it was always Bobby. And now, it was still only him. Now, as a man, he felt no better able to handle her demands than he had when he was seven.

_I watched you die_

_I heard you cry_

_Every night in your sleep_

_I was so young_

_You should have known better than to lean on me_

_You never thought of anyone else_

_You just saw your pain_

_And now I cry_

_In the middle of the night_

_Over the same damn thing_

_Because of you _

_I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

_Because of you _

_I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_

_Because of you _

_I tried my hardest just to forget everything_

_Because of you_

_I don't know how to let anyone else in_

_Because of you _

_I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty_

_Because of you_

_I am afraid_

_Because of you _

_Because of you _

But she was leaving him now, for good. And when she was gone, what would he have? Nothing. Not a damn thing. He closed his eyes, letting the breeze from the water wash over him. And what did he see in his mind? His partner's face. _Back off. _She had been trying for a long time to get him to let her in, just a little, but he refused. She was _his_ mother, _his_ responsibility, _his_ burden. It was not something he was ready or willing to share. Not with her, not with anyone.

He was on the edge, he could feel it. In front of him spread a chasm deeper, wider and darker than the river that stretched before him into the night. For the past six years, Eames had kept him back from this precipice. When he felt himself slipping, she had always been there to grab him and pull him back. He was slipping again, only this time, she wasn't there to pull him back. This time, she was going to let him fall. He didn't know if he could take this any more. He didn't know if he even wanted to.


	2. The Snowglobe

She couldn't concentrate on the words in front of her, staring at them, uncomprehending, even though she had written them. The confession would stand. Bobby's confessions always did. The deputy commissioner would see justice for his daughter. Ultimately, it was that justice that would save her partner's job.

She looked at his desk, at the worn binder that remained where he'd thrown it. _What is going on with you?_ she wondered._ I can't reach you any more. You won't let me._

Ross approached her from his office. "You're going to work with Delgado for awhile, Eames."

He turned to leave, but she wasn't going to accept that with no explanation. "What are you talking about?"

"I just talked to your partner. He's taking a leave of absence, to deal with his mother's illness. Delgado is your partner for the time being."

Simple as that. Ross went back to his office, leaving Eames stunned. _A leave of absence._ And he hadn't called her to even discuss it. He was retreating for good now. _Okay, fine._ If that was how he wanted it, she was going to let him go. This time, she resolved, _he_ was going to be the one to reach out, not her. And she meant it.

* * *

He didn't expect her to call. But he still hoped she would. She didn't. Days passed, and still she didn't call. So he turned off his cell phone and shoved it into a drawer. If he wasn't working and Eames wasn't going to call, why did he have to carry it around? He spent all his time at Carmel Ridge these days. He went home to sleep but never slept for long. The nightmares were worse now than they had ever been, and there was nothing to draw him back, to keep him grounded. As Christmas approached, he found himself gripped by a deep depression that he couldn't pull himself out of. It had taken six years this time, but ultimately he had done it. He'd driven off another partner...the only partner he'd ever cared about keeping. 

A leave of absence. Absence... His mother was slowly but surely slipping away, and now his partner was gone, too. That was it. There was no one left. He was alone. He had lived his life alone, and just as surely, he was going to die alone. There was no spark in life any more. The light had gone out. All that was left now was for him to give up, and that was exactly what he was doing.

* * *

She stood by the window, looking out over the snow-covered street. In her hand, she held a snow globe. This wasn't just any snow globe. It was solid, fashioned of wood and glass. The scene inside it could be anywhere. A frozen pond surrounded by fresh snow, with children skating across its glass surface. In the center of the pond were a boy and a girl, maybe twelve years old. He was tall and lanky, with dark hair and a smile she imagined to be soft. She was petite, not even as tall as his shoulder, blonde hair peeking out from under her hat. He had one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand. She was looking up into his eyes and he was looking into hers. One moment, frozen in time. She shook the globe, watching the snow gracefully fall down around the young couple. When she closed her eyes, she could still see them, only they were no longer frozen within the confines of the glass prison. The wind whispered around them as they glided around the glassy surface of the pond. He spun her in a lazy circle, pulling up to a stop and gliding her into his arms. When he leaned down to kiss her, she opened her eyes and the image was gone. She walked across the room and placed the globe lovingly on the shelf that was its home. Bobby had given it to her last Christmas. 

She pulled on her coat and left the house. She drove back to Manhattan and found a parking place in midtown. Locking the car, she began walking. With no particular destination in mind, she found herself at Rockefeller Center, watching the skaters enjoying their Christmas Eve as a soft but steady snow continued to fall. A little girl, not more than five, fell on the ice. A young man skated up to her, swooping her up in his arms before she could start to cry, and she giggled instead, wrapping her arms around his neck. Across the ice, a couple skated, like the couple in her globe, unaware of a world that existed beyond each others' arms.

She had resolved that Bobby was going to be the one to reach to her this time, and she'd kept her resolve...for the better part of a week. That was all she could stand before worry drove her to try making contact again. But his phone went directly to voicemail and he wouldn't answer his home line. She stopped by his apartment several times a week, but he was never home when she was there. She called out to Carmel Ridge once a week, just to make sure he was managing. They assured her he seemed to be okay. In her heart, though, she knew he wasn't.

She tried not to worry, but she couldn't help it. He could be the most frustrating man in the world, but he was her partner. She cared about him more than almost any other person in her life. He had managed to secure a place for himself in her heart, and it hurt deeply that he had shut her out so completely. He had brought this on himself, though, and she struggled not to dwell on him, but the harder she tried to push him from her mind, the more resolutely he stayed. She found herself constantly criticizing Delgado in her mind for not seeing the world like Bobby did. In her opinion, he rushed through a scene, just to be done with it. He just didn't care the way Bobby always did. Sure he wanted to solve their cases. But he didn't go after it with the same passion.

She got herself a cup of hot chocolate and watched the couple skate their ice waltz around the rink. There was a grace in their movements that complemented each other. Each one half of an inseparable pair...Yin and yang. Alpha and omega. Goren and Eames.

The world around her blurred and she wiped her eyes, annoyed. Almost a month and she'd heard nothing from him. Not a word. She had no idea how he was doing, how he was holding up in the face of his mother's terminal illness. She had done something she had promised she would never do. She had let him fall.

She threw her cup in the trash and turned to hurry from the Center, negotiating her way through the crowd. Her eyesight blurred again as she considered the fact that she was losing her closest friend and she moved faster, bumping into several people, who moved out of her way as she muttered an apology. Turning toward the steps leading to the street level, she ran into someone who didn't step away. She backed up as she angrily wiped at her eyes. She froze when a familiar voice softly asked, "What's wrong?"

She looked up into dark eyes that were filled with concern, but otherwise vacant. The stubble on his face was thicker than usual and peppered with gray, like the curls on his head. Snow lighted onto those curls and melted. He looked utterly exhausted, but only part of his fatigue was physical. The greater part, she sensed, was something she had rarely seen in him before. His soul was weary.

She didn't know what to say, where to start. His head leaned to the left as he kept contact with her eyes. "Are you all right?" She nodded. "You're sure?" Another nod. He stepped back from her. "I won't keep you, then. You looked upset." He hesitated, but decided against saying anything more. "Good-bye, Eames."

"Bobby?" He stopped and turned to look at her. Words failed her again, so she asked the obvious. "How's your mother?"

"Still fighting."

That was more than she could say for him. The light had gone out of his eyes, and that hurt her, deep inside. His energy and his fire were gone. She continued to study his haggard face. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" she asked. He remained silent, neither accepting nor rejecting her offer. "Come on. We'll make it dinner. You look like you could use a decent meal."

He leaned his head to the left a few degrees, looking at her oddly. She knew that look. His voice was strained. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Eames, you made it more than clear that you were through with me. Nothing has changed. Why should you care now?"

"I was _never_ through with you." Her eyes filled with tears again and that annoyed her. She turned that annoyance on him. "_You_ were the one who withdrew. What makes you think I ever stopped caring about you?"

She stepped back at the pain that filled those dark eyes. Without a word, he turned and walked away. She watched him fade into the crowd, and she made up her mind that she couldn't let him go. Not again. She hurried after him, catching up as he got to Fifth Avenue. "Stop right there, Goren."

He turned, frowning. She stepped right up to him. "Why are you running away?"

"I'm not running."

"You were the one who made contact and now you're retreating again."

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right, that's all."

"Why? You shut me out of your life and then think you have any right to worry if I'm upset?"

That was the wrong thing to say and she knew it as soon as she saw the change in his face. He raised his hands and backed away from her. He said nothing; he didn't have to. Again he turned and headed for the street. She watched as he turned up Fifth Avenue. If she let him leave like this, there would be no getting him back. So she followed him.

After several blocks, he suddenly turned and faced her. "What do you want from me, Eames? You were the one who turned your back on me."

"Wait just one damn minute there," she snapped back. "_You_ were the one who shut me out, remember?"

He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he sighed. "I never expected you to understand," he said softly.

"You're right. I don't understand. Why won't you let me in?" She hated how close she was to tears, hated even more that he could do this to her.

He shook his head slowly. "It's not for you to be involved in that part of my life."

"Not even when you're spinning out of control like you have been?"

"No. Not even then. She's _my_ mother, _my_ responsibility. It's not something I can share with anyone, not even my brother. I needed you to back off, to understand...and you...didn't."

"Where are you going now?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Do you mind if I walk with you?"

He sighed. He had no will to fight. "Suit yourself, Eames."

He turned and continued walking, not caring if she followed. She fell into step beside him and he unconsciously slowed his pace so she wouldn't have to run to keep up. Neither of them spoke; they just walked together in silence.

Before they realized where they were, they were entering Central Park. He had just been wandering, as he had done most nights since taking his leave. He stayed with his mother every day, then, once she was sleeping for the night under sedation, he left and spent half the night just walking the streets of the city. In the throes of her illness, she said many hurtful things, all of which came back to haunt him as he wandered through the city. There was no solace for him anywhere he went and he had stopped looking.

She simply kept pace, relieved just to be with him and glad he would let her remain at his side. She had to think of a way to re-establish contact with him, to regain the connection they had lost.

The park was quiet. She loved walking in the park when it was snowing. The falling snow muffled the sounds of the city beyond. The deeper they went into the park, the more peaceful it became. She felt more at ease than she had since before she'd been kidnapped by Jo Gage. She felt herself settle deep inside.

She strayed to the side of the path and ran her hand over the seat of a bench, dislodging the snow and, with a small smile, watching it fall to the ground. Her eyes strayed back to Goren, but he hadn't reacted. He continued to walk, lost in his thoughts, a prisoner in his own world. She frowned. It was time to liberate him from the darkness he'd lost himself in, dammit. If she let him retreat any further, she would lose him forever.

At the next bench, she ran her hand through the snow again, this time gathering it instead of dispersing it. She couldn't help smiling as she silently patted the snow into a ball and lobbed it at him. It hit him in the back of the head and slid down the collar of his shirt. He whirled to face her. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't angry, either. She was entirely unable to read his face. Okay, so, maybe that had been a mistake...She stopped and slowly began to back away from him. When he started toward her, she turned and ran.

She wasn't sure he'd follow, but she hoped he would. Any response from him would be a relief. She dodged to the left and vanished into the bushes, relieved when she heard him crash into the brush behind her. Deep into the underbrush, he caught her arm and pulled her back against him."What was that for?" he whispered into her ear.

She listened for any hint of emotion in his voice. Amusement, passion, anger...anything...but there was nothing. His voice held all the emotion it would if he'd been ordering lunch at Burger King. She rested gloved hands over his and leaned back against him, more comfortable in his arms than she ever expected she would be, particularly given the circumstances. "I got tired of being ignored."

"I wasn't ignoring you," he insisted.

"Were you hoping I would go away?"

His voice became even softer. "No."

He tightened his arms around her, resting his head against hers and closing his eyes. She could feel the tension in his body, like a rope weighted to the point of snapping. She turned to face him. Slipping off her gloves, she brushed warm fingers over moist cheeks. He loosened his hold and dropped to his knees in the snow. Her fingers now slid into his disheveled, snow-dampened hair. He kept his hands on her waist and he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Eames." He wouldn't look at her. "God, I missed you."

She leaned her face down toward his, pressing her forehead against the side of his head. "I'm sorry, too," she responded. "And I missed you more than you'll ever know."

She kissed his temple. He hesitated, then turned his face toward her and kissed her with a passion that had been missing from his life. He pulled her down and she relaxed in his arms. His body trembled, but it wasn't from the cold. When he broke the kiss and leaned back, he was unable to stop shaking. She lightly brushed the tears from his cheeks, first with her fingers, then with her lips. He collapsed against her...and she held him as the snow continued to fall around them.

_tbc..._


	3. Regaining His Stride

**A/N: Okay, this was not where this story was headed when I started it. But after _Privilege_ (thank you, NBC, for gracing us with a Goren/Eames episode) it took a sudden turn. My muse can be unpredictable. I haven't changed my mind about where it will end up. My muse just decided that three or four chapters was too short for this particular story. So, here we go...

* * *

**

She woke late the next morning, alone in a warm, soft bed. She stayed there, comfortable, for a long time, listening for any sign of movement in the apartment. There was none. Reluctantly, she slid from under the blanket and comforter, pulling on one of his sweatshirts before she headed out of the bedroom. There was a note on the table._ I had to leave, but you can stay for as long as you like. I'll call you when I get home. Tell your folks Merry Christmas for me. Love, Bobby_

She didn't have to guess why he'd had to leave, and she tried not to resent her. But it was hard, for no other reason than the pain she caused the son who sacrificed everything for her, even his career, a job he dearly loved. She felt his mother was unreasonable, but it was not her place to say anything. And she felt guilty for feeling that way. After all, Frances was dying, and that was incredibly hard for Bobby, who had devoted his life to caring for her. He was a good son.

She stayed through the morning, wandering around the apartment and feeling closer to him than she had for a very long time. When she was ready to go, she found some paper and left him a note. _I'll talk to you later. It's good to have you back; I missed you. Thank you for not forcing me away again. Love, Alex_

She pulled out her keys and locked the door on her way out.

* * *

She was home when he called. She was relieved to hear from him. "How's your mom?" 

_Not so good tonight. Sorry I'm calling so late. Did you have a good Christmas?_

"I'm glad you called at all. And yes, it was a very nice Christmas." She paused. "I really have missed you, you know."

He was silent for a long minute. _I missed you, too._

"Are you coming back to work anytime soon?"

_Soon. I still need a little time._

"Don't stay away too long. I'm getting tired of chasing Delgado around crime scenes."

_He does kind of rush it, doesn't he?_

"He drives me nuts."

_Kind of like I do?_

"In a very different way, Goren."

Again he was quiet. _Is that good?_

"Yes, it is. Try to get some rest, Bobby. I'll call you tomorrow."

_Good night, Eames._

"Bobby?"

_Yes?_

"Welcome back, partner."

* * *

Two weeks into the new year, he returned to work and they were immediately embroiled in a double homicide involving the murder of the only grandchild of the matriarch of the influential Harrington family. Eames was pleased to see her partner back on his game. His mother was stable and relatively lucid for the time being. He had a reprieve, of sorts. 

She was the one who was feeling out of sorts lately, irritable for no good reason and lashing out at anyone who got in her way. She didn't miss Goren's amusement when she snapped at that idiot in the interrogation room who thought taking care of his kids was babysitting. Moron.

But she did miss his look when she verbally accosted Lady Harrington about choosing to protect the family name over protecting the family, a decision that had ultimately cost the life of her beloved grandchild.

Back in the squadroom after the arrest of Lady Harrington's son Ernest for the murders of her granddaughter and daughter-in-law, they were busy with the paperwork when Ross stopped at their desks. He looked at Goren. "How's your mother?"

Goren looked up at him and Eames wondered if he would ever be comfortable in this man's presence. Of course, she'd almost laughed out loud when he'd called the captain reductive. He was once more finding his stride. "She's dying, Captain."

When Ross had welcomed him back, he was sincere. There was something missing in the squadroom when the big detective wasn't there, and he was at a loss to explain that. But he also couldn't have his detectives out of control and accusing deputy commissioners of being bad parents. "Are you ready to be back?"

"Yes, sir."

Ross slowly nodded. "All right. But you're about out of chances, detective. I'll give you all the leeway I can, but know that your badge is on the line if you can't control yourself."

"I understand, sir."

Ross patted his shoulder. "Welcome back."

He looked at Eames, who understood his unspoken order. _Keep your partner in line. _He continued on to his office. Goren looked at her. "I guess he still wants you to keep an eye on me."

"How'd you know?"

He shrugged, but a small smile touched the corners of his mouth. He wasn't a hundred percent, but he was much better than he'd been on Christmas Eve. Any improvement over that was something she would gladly take. But she did notice that he was fidgeting more than usual and she wondered about that. As she tried to concentrate on her work, she found herself distracted by his unconscious shifting and moving. She looked up. "Would you hold still?"

He frowned. "Oh, uh, sorry."

He did an admirable job of holding his restlessness down to an intermittent shifting, but then he couldn't concentrate on anything and he had to take a walk. After his third walk, she slammed her papers into her desk and said, "I'm going home. You can fidget all you want now. Good night, Bobby."

He watched her leave, confused by her outburst. Head resting on his hand, he watched the elevators for a long time after she had gone, lost in thought. Then he picked up the phone and dialed.

* * *

_There was nothing around him but darkness...an inky black darkness that he could not see beyond. But he could still feel and he sensed a presence there with him. The presence was confirmed by a weak voice that called his name. **Bobby?**_

_**Mom? Where are you?**_

_**I'm over here, son. They are coming to get me, and you, too. I need you...I need you here...with me...**_

_Further away, he heard another voice, calling his name. This voice held no pleading, no tenderness... only anger. **That's right, go ahead. Run to her and leave me to flounder on my own. What about me, you son of a bitch? Where do I fit in?**_

He bolted upright on the couch, drenched in sweat. The book that had been perched on his chest tumbled to the floor. He didn't bother looking at the time. Grabbing the phone, he dialed and waited for her to answer. _Do we have a case?_ she asked without preamble.

"Uh, no."

_You're toast, Goren._

"I, uh, I'm sorry...I..."

He took a deep breath, further calming himself. There was silence on the other end. _Bobby? Is something wrong? Is your mom okay?_

"Everything's okay. I just...I needed to see if you were okay."

_Me? Why wouldn't I be okay?_

How do you tell someone that something is wrong with them if they think everything is fine? "I...It's nothing...I just had a nightmare."

_Do you want me to come over?_

There was nothing he could think of that he wanted more than to lose himself in her arms. Nothing would resolve his tension better than the things her body could do to his. He sighed softly. "N-no," he answered, reluctantly. "It's all right. I'm really sorry I woke you. I-I'll see you in the morning."

_Bobby?_

"Hm?"

_I'm sorry I yelled at you this afternoon. You didn't do anything wrong._

"Forget it. I know I get on your nerves sometimes."

_You're sure everything is okay?_

"Yes, I'm sure. Good night, Eames."

_Good night._

He closed the phone. Okay, that had been a stupid thing to do, although he wasn't sure which was more stupid: telling her not to come over or calling her in the first place. But he knew that if she saw the collection of books spread across his coffee table, she would really blow a gasket at him. And if she had any idea about the conversation he'd had before leaving the squad room, he'd have to fear for his own well-being.

Leaning over, he picked up the book that had fallen from his chest and straightened out a bent page. Glancing at the cover, he sighed and leaned back on the couch to return to his reading. The title of the book was _Post Traumatic Stress Disorder: A Sign of Our Times_.

* * *

**A/N2: The title to his book is mine. It's not a real book...**


	4. Two Peas in A Really Messedup Pod

He paced back and forth in the office, agitated. The man in the chair near the desk watched him in silence, waiting for him to talk. Finally, he did, his hands waving as he spoke. "I just...I don't know what to do. Everything is falling apart around me. My...my mother is dying and my partner...I don't know what's going on with her. She seems to be angry with me all the time. Nothing I do is right. To be honest with you, I don't think she's gotten past the kidnapping. She resented the therapy sessions they made her go to afterwards, and she's showing progressive signs of post-traumatic stress. I...I don't know how to help her."

Dr. Emil Skoda watched the agitated detective pace. He knew Goren, and he knew how intelligent and intuitive the man was. "No one can help her if she's not willing to be helped, Bobby."

"So how do I convince her she needs help?"

"I can't answer that for you." He watched the younger man continue pacing. "You care a great deal about her, don't you?"

"Y-yes. Is that wrong?"

"Of course not. No need to get defensive."

"I-I'm not. I just..." He lowered his head and sighed. "I don't like the way things are right now. I want them back the way they were."

Skoda sighed. "You know there's no going back. You have to deal with things as they are."

Goren dropped into a chair, leaned forward and looked at his hands. "What do I do?"

"Tell me something. Why did you call me?"

"I...trust you."

Skoda nodded his head. "I'm glad to hear that. Maybe you'll be honest with me then."

"I have been honest with you."

"I have another question."

"Fine. Shoot."

"Bobby, are you sleeping with her?"

He shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't answer. Quietly, Skoda reassured him, "Whatever you tell me stays here. Unless they interfere with your job, I have no issues with your personal choices."

He still remained silent before he finally shook his head, answering honestly. "No."

"Have you ever?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

"So what happened?"

"Hell if I know. I think it got to be too much for her, keeping it from the captain. All I know is she keeps withdrawing further and further, and now...I can't reach her any more. I don't understand her anger, and I am tired of being wrong no matter what I do. She's...different. I...I miss her, the way she used to be."

"That may never happen. She's been through quite an ordeal and something like that is bound to change a person." Skoda studied him. "You love her."

"Of course I do."

"Unconditionally?"

Goren frowned. "Yes. Of course."

"Are you in love with her?"

He closed his eyes, then launched himself out of the chair and began pacing again. "What bearing does that have on anything, if I am or if I'm not? It doesn't matter to anyone but me."

Skoda sensed his withdrawal and knew he'd pushed far enough. "All right, Bobby. Before you go, I want to discuss one more thing. Tell me about your mother."

* * *

When Goren left Skoda's office, he had two things: a follow-up appointment for the next week and homework. He had to find a way to convince Eames to come with him. He didn't regret calling Skoda the other day after Eames left the office, but he wasn't sure about how helpful talking to the doctor was going to be. He was more angry and frustrated than he'd been when he started. Skoda hadn't gotten any further with him after he'd shut down. He didn't say much about his mother beyond the fact that she was dying of lymphoma and he was...coping. It was the best thing he could think of to say about it. 

He was done for the day, but he wasn't ready to go home to his empty apartment. He stopped for a bite to eat, lingering over his meal, and then he drove to Queens, to the sporting complex he went to when he needed to burn off some steam. He entered one of the batting cages, started the pitching machine and took his stance inside the batter's box. Sometimes, it felt good to just hit something.

He'd worked up a good sweat and hit his stride, not paying any attention to the world outside the batting cage. He was surprised when a familiar voice said, "You're pretty damn good. Ever play ball?"

He didn't answer, but his next swing was harder. The voice spoke again. "I'd guess you're either pissed or frustrated."

"Try both," Goren finally growled. "What the hell do you want, Logan?"

His tone was decidedly unfriendly. Logan straightened back away from the fence. "Okay, fine. I see you're not in the mood to talk. Later, asshole."

Goren swung again, but some of the steam had gone out of his swing. He stepped out of the box and stood there for a moment. Then he leaned the bat against the fencing, left the cage and trotted after Logan. "Hey, Logan..."

Logan stopped and looked at him. "What?"

"Sorry, man. It's been...a bad day."

"I've had a couple of those myself lately. What brings you out here?"

"Just burning off some steam."

Logan nodded. "I get that. Buy you a couple of drinks?"

Goren hesitated. "All right, Mike. There's a small bar in my neighborhood, Nick's Tavern. He's got a couple of pool tables."

"Fine. I'll follow you."

* * *

They found an empty pool table and Goren began to rack the balls. Logan chose a cue stick. "I'll get the drinks. What's your poison?" 

"Scotch, straight up."

"Right."

When Logan returned with the drinks, the table was ready. Goren let him break and the game began. After missing his shot, Logan leaned on his cue stick to watch Goren . "You wanna tell me what's had you so outta sorts?"

Goren was lining up a shot. "It doesn't matter."

"You left early today."

"I had an appointment."

"Eames wasn't happy."

"She never is lately."

"What's her malfunction, anyway? I've never seen her snap at you so much."

Goren sighed. "I don't know. I guess I've just been more difficult than usual. I've had...some personal issues going on."

"Yeah, I heard about your mother. That blow-up at Thanksgiving...she's really sick, isn't she?"

"Lymphoma."

"Sorry, man."

Goren shrugged. "I'm...dealing with it."

"Sure you are."

He looked at Logan, eyes narrowed. "Do you have a point here?"

Logan held up his hands and backed off. "No point. Just offering a sympathetic ear."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm fine."

Logan's expression darkened for a moment, then he shrugged it off. "Whatever. Take your shot."

He got another round of drinks and waited for his next shot. Goren glanced up at him. "Ever hear from Barek?"

Logan grinned. "Yeah. Any time she wants to bust my chops over my new partner." He laughed. "Wheeler's eager, but she's got a lot to learn. And Ross wants me, of all people, to teach her. Go figure."

"Yeah. Go figure."

"Hey..."

Goren laughed and sank another ball.

* * *

Several hours and many drinks later, the two men made their way to Goren's apartment. He pulled out his keys and fumbled with them, looking for the door key. He found it and tried to slide it into the lock, not quite getting why it was so difficult. The keys slid from his fingers onto the floor and he had to find the door key again. Finally, he got the door open. "Genius got the door open." 

"Shut up, Logan."

Logan laughed and looked around the apartment. "Neat as a pin...go figure. And books...who'd a thunk it?"

"You wanna walk home?"

"Nah. I'm good. That couch comfortable?"

"You'll find out 'cause you're not sleeping with me."

"Aw. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I don't know, but it sure as hell has more curves and bumps in more places than you do."

Logan laughed. "Yeah. You're not quite my type either." He looked around. "So where's Eames sleep when she stays over?"

"In the bed..." _Oh, shit._ "I mean...uh...never mind."

But it was too late. "So you _are_ sleeping with her."

"No. No, I'm not. Not any more, anyway."

Logan sat on the couch and poked at the cushions. "Not bad." He shifted his eyes toward Goren, not missing the pain in the man's demeanor and tone. "What happened?"

"I have no idea."

"You ever think maybe she's so pissy 'cause she's not getting it any more?"

"Don't be crude, asshole. And no. She can get it any time she wants it. She's the one who lost interest, not me."

"How long's it been?"

"Christmas."

"You're all freaked out because she hasn't slept with you in a coupla weeks?"

"No. It's more than that and it's not about sex. It's about...her. I-I can't explain it, and I'm too damn drunk to even try. Please...forget I said anything. G'night, Mike. An' thanks for the company tonight. I...I needed it."

"No sweat, pal."

He watched Goren head into the bedroom and waited for the door to close. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number. A sleepy voice answered, _This better be damn good, cowboy, or I swear I'm going to geld you._

"That's a nice hello, Barek."

_Hey, you called me...and it's an hour and a half til dawn on a Saturday morning. What gives?_

"When was the last time you talked to Eames?"

_Last weekend. Why?_

"Did you know she and Goren slept together?"

_I swear on my mother's grave, Logan, if you called me at this hour to gossip, I'm going to get in my car in my pajamas and come over there to kick your ass._

"You gotta find me first."

_You're drunk, aren't you?_

"Just a bit. He's drunker...uh, more drunk, er, however the hell you say it."

_Can't you find someone else to call when you get lonely in the middle of the night?_

"I'm not lonely."

_I don't want to hear about it. __Seriously, you didn't call me to gossip, did you?_

"I don't gossip. You should know that by now. I wanted to know what Eames told you."

_Not much. She did tell me they slept together on Christmas Eve. She also said she's worried about him. She said he's getting more and more withdrawn and he won't confide in her._

"He's worried about her. She's always pissed at him, and he can't see what he's done wrong. He's really torn up about it." He sighed. "I'm gonna go to sleep. I just was wondering if you had some clue about what's wrong with Eames?"

_Maybe it's not just her. He has something to do with it, too._

"He's having a hard time seeing that. It's like he's got blinders on."

_With what's going on in his life, I'm not surprised. And Alex is still struggling with residual issues from her kidnapping. She doesn't want to add to his already heavy burden._

"And she can't see that she _is_ adding to it. They're like two peas in a really messed up pod right now."

_You're more insightful when you're drunk, do you know that?_

"Good night, Barek."

_Sleep well, Logan._

He closed the phone and laid back on the couch, folding his arms behind his head. He always figured Goren was a complicated guy, but until now, he had no clue just how complicated he was.


	5. A Session with Dr Skoda

She knew he was nervous, even if she had no clue why. Maybe she would _have_ a clue if he'd talk to her, but he had stopped that not long after New Year's, and she wasn't sure exactly what was going on with him. Maybe it was his mother...he never talked about her. All she knew was that he was shutting her out again, and that really pissed her off. She was taking it out on him, too, and she knew it. But this time, there was no remorse. This time, he deserved it.

After his fourth trip from the squadroom before lunch, he dropped into his chair. She knew he'd been wandering around the building because it was raining heavily outside and he was still dry. With a soft sigh, he leaned forward and spoke hesitantly. "Uh, Eames...I have an appointment this afternoon."

"Another one?" She became concerned. "Are you all right, Bobby?"

"Yes, I...um...I'm fine. I...well..." He huffed out his breath wearily. "Would you mind coming with me?"

She immediately grew suspicious. He had never included her in anything before; why would he start now? "Why?"

"Because...I'd like you to."

"You have always worked so hard to exclude me..."

"That's not true."

"Bullshit. You never include me in anything personal. I'm just your partner. Nothing more."

He shook his head adamantly. "No...that isn't true, Eames."

She leaned forward. "You don't even call me Alex."

That gave him pause. She was right about that. He rarely ever called her by her first name. He sighed in resignation. "Okay, fine. Forget I asked."

"No, I won't forget it. I just want to know why."

"Be-because I'm concerned about you...and myself. Things are just...not right...and I-I don't know how to fix them."

"Why do you think you can fix the world?"

"I don't want to fix the world right now. I just want to fix...us."

She studied him, eyes narrowed, and he fidgeted again under her glare. "Okay, Goren," she said quietly. "I'll go with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want me to change my mind?"

"Uh...no."

"Then stop asking questions and just accept the fact that I'm willing."

"Right. Thank you."

She gave him a curt nod and returned to her work. He watched her for a moment, letting his mind skitter across recent memories before he also returned to work.

* * *

When she found out that his appointment was with Skoda, she was furious. "Why didn't you tell me?" she hissed as they entered the waiting room.

"Then you wouldn't have come."

"So you let me believe it was something else?"

"I didn't say anything to mislead you."

"No. You just left out the fact that your appointment was with a psychiatrist."

"Fine, Eames. Just go then."

"And leave you to have a full bitch session about me? No thanks. I'm going to be here to at least defend myself."

He looked hurt. "Why would you think I complain about you?"

"Maybe because I haven't spent the night with you since Christmas."

He shook his head slowly, even more wounded. "No, it's not that. Not at all. You should know me better."

She regretted what she said, but she was too angry at the moment to apologize. When he retreated and walked across the room to look out the window, she let him go. Angrily grabbing a magazine, she sat on the other side of the room and flipped through it, not seeing a thing on any of the pages in front of her.

When Skoda stepped out of the office, the first thing he noticed was the fact that they were on opposite sides of the room. "Bobby?"

Goren turned away from the window and looked at the doctor, who motioned to him. He glanced toward his partner but she didn't look up. His eyes held a silent question when he looked back at Skoda. The doctor nodded. "Eames," Goren called quietly.

She looked up slowly. "What?"

He sighed softly and shook his head, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. Without another word, he walked past the doctor into the inner office. Skoda raised an eyebrow, then looked at Eames. "Would you mind joining us, Detective Eames?"

"Yes, I do mind, Dr. Skoda. But I'll join you anyway."

Once she moved past him into the office, he sighed and closed the door. This had the makings of an interesting session.

Skoda walked to the chair next to his desk and sat down. The partners, he noticed, were seated as far apart as they could get, and Goren was restless. He looked from one to the other, waiting for one of them to speak. He wasn't surprised when Goren took the initiative. "Uh, I probably handled it badly," he muttered. "Wh-when I asked Eames to come along with me."

"You think?" Eames snapped. "He never told me what kind of appointment he had. I thought something was wrong."

"Something _is_ wrong," Goren insisted. "I don't know why you haven't seen it."

"The only thing I've seen is you pulling further and further away from me, and I hate that."

"I haven't been," he insisted.

"Oh, bullshit, Bobby. I try to let you know that I care about you but you just won't let me in."

He got up and began pacing, agitated. "Is this about my mother again?"

"What the hell else is going on in your life? Of course it is."

"So that's why you've pulled away from me? Because I won't talk to you about my mother?"

"How have I pulled away?"

"You keep withdrawing. You won't even have dinner with me any more."

"So that's why you're punishing me? Because I haven't slept with you lately?"

"What does that have to do with having dinner? That has nothing to do with anything," he exploded. "You've been getting more and more irritable and remote, ever since the kidnapping. I'm sick of walking on eggshells, Eames!"

Skoda watched in silence as the two partners shot accusations back and forth at one another until Eames was near tears and Goren was too angry to say another word. He watched as Goren grew more and more agitated, waiting for him to calm down, but when he recovered his voice, it was still thick with anger. "I am sick and tired of being pulled in so many different directions and I am fed up with you making me feel like every damn thing I do is wrong. I...I just can't do this any more, Eames. I-I can't take you being mad at me all the fucking time. If you can get your emotions back on track, then maybe we can talk. Otherwise, the whole damn world can just go to hell. I'm done with it."

He stormed from the office and neither Eames nor Skoda made any move to stop him. Now it was Eames' turn to get up from her chair, agitated. She walked to the window and looked out onto the wet street outside. "Why does he _do_ that?" she demanded.

Skoda softly sighed. "Withdrawal is a coping mechanism for Bobby," he explained. "When things become overwhelming for him, he retreats. The man you see in the interrogation room, overly confident, welcoming and instigating conflict, is very different from the real man. The real Bobby Goren is uncertain about his life and everything in it. When confronted with something that is too painful for him to deal with, he retreats from it. That doesn't speak for his feelings, though. It has absolutely nothing to do with how strongly he feels for you or anyone else. It's simply his natural tendency to withdraw from the things that pain him. That's his learned response. Try not to hold it against him."

"That's hard to do."

"I know it is. It's very frustrating. But it helps if you understand him. His upbringing was not easy, and it is very difficult to overcome a childhood of abuse. The fact that he did speaks very highly for him. Most people never get past the abuse, but Bobby did. Unfortunately, his past still comes back to haunt him, and that's why he withdraws."

She turned to look at Skoda, her eyes pleading. "How can I help him?"

"First, you need to help yourself."

With a frown, she said, "What do you mean?"

"I heard about the kidnapping, and Bobby touched on it a little bit. He is very worried about you, and he's afraid you haven't fully dealt with the horror of that experience. He can't put himself in your place, and that disturbs him greatly. Even more than that, though, he agonizes over the fact that he wasn't able to find you, to rescue you from your captor."

"He feels like he has to save the world sometimes."

"Not this time. This time, he just wanted to save you...and he wasn't able to. That still haunts him."

"He expects too much from himself."

"Maybe so. But he cares deeply for you, and that fuels a powerful need to take care of you, to protect you. He tries to push that desire aside because he knows how much you feel like you don't need to be protected, but since the kidnapping, that need has become overwhelming for him. On top of that, he has his mother to deal with and...well, he has a great deal on his shoulders right now."

"And why are you telling me this? I thought you couldn't talk about anything he told you."

"I can't, but he gave me permission to discuss this with you when we finished up last week. He is very worried, and he wants to help you."

"So he runs out on this session? Yeah, that makes sense."

"He tries to get past it, but he can't help feeling overwhelmed and that makes him overly defensive. So he retreats. He really isn't trying to hide things from you. Some things are simply too painful for him to discuss, so he keeps them to himself."

She was very frustrated. "I want to help him, but he won't let me."

"He feels like you have withdrawn from him."

"I...I don't see it that way. I want him to come to me for a change. I am tired of always being the one doing all the work trying to draw him out."

Skoda sighed. "You aren't going to change him. That's who he is. He internalizes everything and you aren't going to force anything out of him. However...there is a very good chance you can coax things out of him. But you have to be patient and accept as much as he can give without asking for too much."

"Because trying to force him will only make him withdraw more."

"Exactly."

"He's a lot of work," she complained.

"Then step away. As his mother continues to deteriorate, he will only get more difficult. If you don't feel inclined to put in the effort, stop teasing him and walk away."

"Teasing him? Did he say that?"

"No. His natural tendency with you is protection. He doesn't complain about you...just about how you make him feel." He got up from his chair and joined her at the window. "Tell me what you feel."

"Don't try to psychoanalyze me, doctor. I'm only here because Bobby asked me to come."

"I'm not trying to do anything. I'd just like to know how you feel."

"About him?"

Her partner was a safe topic for her and she was more comfortable talking about him than she was talking about herself. Skoda was content with that. He had to establish a trust with her, like he was trying to with Goren. "We can start there if you'd like to."

She was quiet for a long minute. "To be honest with you, my feelings for him are about as complicated as he is. We've been partners for six years, and there are still things about him that surprise me. I wish he felt more comfortable with me."

"What makes you think he doesn't?"

"He won't let me in. He won't talk to me about anything that troubles him."

"It's not in his nature to do that. He's a private man, and he's not inclined to share himself, even with those he's closest to. Maybe especially with those he's closest to."

"So what do I do with him?"

Skoda was quiet for a moment. "What do you think you can do for him?"

"I don't know. He won't let me do much. I mean, I'm there for him. He knows that."

"Does he? Have you told him that?"

"Why do I have to tell him? After all this time, he has to know how I feel."

"I know that sometimes it seems like he can read minds, but he can't. He only knows what you choose to tell him, Alex."

She snorted. "He's a profiler. That's what he does. Why should I bore him with redundancies?"

"Do you think you bore him?"

"Everyone bores Bobby."

Skoda laughed. "And you think because he can profile criminals that he profiles you as well?"

"I don't think he can help it."

Turning, he leaned against the windowsill. "He hasn't said anything to me about it, but I don't think he can read you as easily as you think he can."

"Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"Maybe. But I think it has more to do with his emotions. He loves you, and that interferes with his ability to read you."

"What makes you think he loves me?" she asked with a suspicious lift of her eyebrow.

"Do you doubt that he does?"

She sighed. "I don't know what to think about him sometimes."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes, I do."

"And you show him that?"

"That depends on what you mean by that. If you're trying to find out if I have been sleeping with him, then no, I haven't been."

"Have you ever?"

"Only once."

"And who broke it off?"

"I never said anything was broken off. I just...I want him to trust me. If he can't trust me with his heart, how can I trust him with...with any part of me?"

"So you're trying to bribe him with sex?"

"No! Not at all. If he showed _any_ interest..." She trailed off, unhappy.

"I think you both need to communicate better with one another."

"That's easier said than done. Bobby doesn't do communication...with anyone."

"Don't give up on him. That would be the worst thing you could do." It was time to change the subject, to ease her onto a different topic. "Alex, he has been very worried about you, very concerned that you have not dealt with the emotional consequences of your kidnapping."

"What would he know about it?"

"Have you talked with him about it?"

"No."

"And yet you expect him to bare his soul to you?"

The doctor had a point. In a lot of ways, she had been as closed-off as he was. She had shut him out, too. She rubbed her hands over her face in a gesture of frustration her partner often used. "What a mess we've made of things. All right, doctor...how do we fix it?"

"Talking is a good place to start. Try talking to him."

"Like he'll talk to me."

"I didn't say get him to talk to you. I said talk to him. See how he responds."

She sighed heavily. "First I have to find him. That's not as easy as you might think."

"Don't give up on him. That makes him much more inclined to give up on himself. He needs you more than you think he does."

"That's a two-way street."

"Then take down the barricades because he's not getting through."

She huffed in annoyance. That was it; she was done talking. "Thanks for the chat, Doctor Skoda."

"Would you come back to see me?"

She hesitated. "Alone?"

"You can come with Bobby, if you'd prefer."

"I would."

"That's fine. Next week, same time?"

"That works. Have a good week." She looked out the window. "Now I have to go and find him, walking around out there in the rain."

"He wouldn't have taken the car?"

She smiled. "I have the keys."

Skoda laughed. She left the office in search of her partner while he walked to his desk, sat down and began writing.


	6. One Last Olive Branch

_Because of you _

_I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

_Because of you _

_I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_

_Because of you _

_I tried my hardest just to forget everything_

_Because of you_

_I don't know how to let anyone else in_

_Because of you _

_I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty_

_Because of you_

_I am afraid_

He walked down the street, head down, hands shoved into his pockets, and he felt utterly lost. How could he have succeeded in so completely alienating himself from his partner? How could he have let himself hurt her like that? What the hell was wrong with him? Doubts and self-recrimination pounded through his head as he walked aimlessly, ignoring the rain, the wind, the people around him. The more he thought, the more he hurt, and he had no idea how to make it better. He wasn't even sure he could. He was on his last leg with her, and she was about to knock it out from under him. He wouldn't blame her one bit if she did. She put up with so much from him, and he found himself totally incapable of opening up to her. It wasn't even something he had full control over. He wasn't resistant to the idea of letting her in; he was just incapable of doing it. And he beat himself up over it on a daily basis. Why couldn't he just let her in? Was it really such a hard thing to do? For him, the answer was yes, and she didn't understand that. He couldn't blame her for being so angry with him, but he didn't know how to make it right. Now...she was going to leave, and he had no way to convince her to stay. He almost wished the rumors around 1PP were true, that she stayed with him because of the sex. At least that was something tangible, something he had control over. As it was, he didn't even have that. What was he going to do without her?

He didn't notice the car that pulled up to the curb. He was so lost in thought he didn't hear the door open and close and he kept walking. He didn't hear his name being called. It wasn't until she grabbed his arm that he realized she was there. Stopping, he turned to look at her. She met his eyes, but said nothing. Silently, she steered him back toward the car. He had no desire to fight with her any more, and he went along without resistance. He sat silently in the passenger seat, looking out the window and not at her. Likewise, she remained quiet, and he had no idea what to make of that, so he continued to brood silently. The tension between them was palpable and that drove him crazy. But he had no idea what to do to dispel it.

He wasn't surprised when she pulled up outside his apartment. Saying nothing, he got out of the car. But she did surprise him when she turned off the ignition and got out. He looked at her quizzically. Finally breaking the silence, she said, "Do you want me to leave?"

"Uh, no."

"Okay, then. Stop looking at me like that."

She followed him up to his apartment and waited for him to let them in. "Go get changed," she said, her voice softer than he'd heard it in many weeks.

He didn't argue. Once in the solitude of his bedroom, he pulled off his wet suit and changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Then he sat for a moment on the bed, and he remembered the early hours of Christmas morning. He had never felt so relaxed, so...happy...as he had in her arms, knowing without a doubt that she loved him, at least at that moment.

"Bobby?"

Her voice from the hall startled him from his pleasant reverie. The tension returned to weight him down. "Uh, yeah. I'm coming."

He got up from the edge of the bed and opened the bedroom door. He was surprised to see her standing there. Just her brief foray into the rain had drenched her, and he had not noticed. He mentally kicked himself for that. "I, uh...I'm sorry..." he stammered. "Here, let me get you a shirt to change into. Do you want a sweatshirt or a t-shirt?"

"A sweatshirt would be nice, thanks."

Handing her a sweatshirt from a dresser drawer, he said, "Get changed. I'll find something for us to eat...uh, if you're hungry..."

"That would be fine, Bobby."

She was being civil to him...almost kind...and that made him nervous. Everything she did lately made him nervous, and he hated that. He never used to be so on guard with her. Once, he had been comfortable having her around, even welcoming her presence in an off duty context. Now, he could not force himself to relax around her, and that troubled him deeply. He pulled the bedroom door closed and went into the kitchen. He had no idea why she was here, and that set him on edge as much as anything did.

In the bedroom, Eames took off her wet clothes and set them aside with his suit. Pulling on the sweatshirt he had given her, she smiled as she rolled up the sleeves. It went almost to her knees, and it was warm and comfortable. It reminded her of him and pleasant thoughts brought back memories of Christmas morning. Staring at the bed, she wondered what had happened between them, how things had deteriorated so badly. She had to get them back on track or she was going to lose him for good and that was not an option for her. She didn't want this tension between them, and she certainly did not want to drive him away. All she knew was that they were both struggling, both hurting badly, and there had to be a way to make it better. But it had to be something they both wanted, and once again, she had no idea what was going on with him. Deciphering the mind of a genius was a daunting task and she wasn't certain she was up to it. He was going to have to give her the translation himself, if he was so inclined. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure he was.

She left the bedroom and stopped in the kitchen doorway. Two small plates and two bowls sat on the counter. He stirred a pot of soup and turned the sandwiches in a frying pan. She noticed the almost empty beer on the counter when he walked to the sink, and she studied him. Even without seeing his face, she could read tension in every move he made. One more tug in the wrong direction, and this man was going to snap. She had to be careful not to pull or push him too hard. As angry as she had been with him, her anger was gone, replaced by a sympathy she had been unable to find lately. She recalled Skoda's advice: _There's a chance you can coax things out of him. But you have to be patient and accept as much as he can give without asking for too much._

But how much was too much? Skoda's explanations came back to her, fresh in her mind: _It's his natural tendency to withdraw from the things that pain him...his learned response...his past comes back to haunt him and that's why he withdraws...Try not to hold it against him...He cares very deeply for you...his natural tendency with you is protection...stop teasing him and walk away..._

Teasing him? Is that what he thought? Could Bobby be thinking that as well? She wasn't playing games, or was she? Sure, she was tired of chasing him all over God's green earth, trying to get some kind of response from him. Was it so wrong to want something from him in return? But was she asking for more than he could give? Would she be able to coax anything out of him? He had made it very clear that he did not want to let her in, but was that what he really wanted? There were so many unknowns right now her head was swimming. As hard as she'd had to work to gain his trust in the early months of their partnership, this was so much harder, gaining access to his heart so she could help to ease his pain.

He turned from the sink and stopped. He had been so lost in his thoughts, he had not realized she was there. A soft smile touched his features, then flittered away like a startled bird. "What?" she asked as he studied her.

"Nothing. I was just thinking that sweatshirt looks better on you than it ever did on me."

That made her smile and he relaxed a little. He turned off both burners and dished out the food. Draining the beer, he dropped the empty bottle in the recycling container. She helped him carry the dishes to the table. "What can I get you to drink?" he asked.

"Do you have any rum left?"

"Yes. Rum and coke?"

"If you don't mind."

When he returned to the table and set the glass in front of her, he answered, "Why would I mind? I got the rum for you in the first place. I don't drink it."

He set down a freshly opened beer and sat across from her. She watched him stir his soup idly, searching for something to say, but was disappointed when he remained silent. Her mind returned to her hospital room, after the kidnapping, waking to find him by her bedside, looking like he'd been dragged through hell, which he had. Her terror had been real, but so had his. For six years, he had lived with the fear of losing her. When she had been kidnapped, he had to look that fear directly in the face and confront it, and that had taken a toll on him. She had been so wrapped up in her own cocoon of emotion, she had ignored his, and he was totally at a loss over how to handle it.

Softly, careful to keep her tone gentle and non-confrontational, she said, "Will you _please_ talk to me?"

He had not touched his food, although his drink was half-gone. He was floundering, and she had to steady him again. He stirred the soup some more and shrugged. "What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly. "I don't know what you want. I just...I want you to be okay, Eames. I-I want _us_ to be okay."

"And what about you, Bobby? What about you being okay?

He refused to look up. "I-I don't know," he murmured. "B-but I know that I _can't_ be okay if we aren't."

"Do you really want us to be okay?" He nodded and she continued, "Then listen to me. We live on a two-way street here, but lately all the traffic has been going in one direction. I keep giving, but I get nothing in return. I reach out to you, but you keep slapping me away. Do I have to explain how that makes me feel?"

He shook his head, and she couldn't help but be reminded of a recalcitrant schoolboy who had just been rebuked. She kept her tone gentle. "I know how difficult things are for you right now. I remember when my mom had her stroke. Everything in your world has been set on its edge and you don't know how to make it right again. I get that. What I don't get is how you think it will make anything better if you shut me out. Right now you are the closest friend I have. But I don't know what to do with you, Bobby. You have all this pain inside and this huge burden to bear. I watch it take its toll on you, but you refuse to let me help you."

"H-help me? How? How can you help me?"

She raised a hand, even though he still would not look at her. "Before it occurs to you to be an ass, no, I can't make your mother well. But did you ever think that just maybe it might help you to talk to someone who gives a damn. It won't change anything, but it might relieve some of that weight that's dragging you down. Maybe if you stop trying so damn hard to push me away, you'll find some comfort. God knows you need it."

Finally, he looked up. "So where did you go, Eames? Why did you pull away from me like you did?"

She slammed her hand on the table. "I am not here at your convenience, Bobby. You either want me with you or you don't. Only you can decide that, but I am damn tired of playing games with you. It's your choice. You can let me in or you can let me go. There's no middle ground here. I'm tired of fighting with you and I'm tired of the emotional roller coaster. You can let me help you or you can withdraw and let me walk away, as hard as that would be for me. Because I do love you, you son of a bitch, and I don't want to go."

_There_. It was all in his lap now. The balance of their friendship, the fate of their partnership...it all depended on what he did next.

_My heart can't possibly break _

_When it wasn't even whole to start with..._

He dropped his gaze to the table in front of him. For a long time, he remained silent, and she let him. She had reached out, again, and now it was his turn. The next time she spoke, if he did nothing, it would be to say good-bye.


	7. Reaching Out

He dropped his spoon into the bowl and stood up, walking to the window that looked out over the wet street. _You can let me in or you can let me go. _

His biggest problem was that he did not know how to do either. A lifetime of sequestering his emotions ensured that they were locked up tight, available only to torture him. Sometimes, his most powerful feelings broke through...rage, pain...but that was rare. He was careful to keep his emotions buried, even from her, although sometimes, she saw how much he hurt. And once, she saw how much he loved. He was good at showing some emotion while keeping the bulk of it hidden away. Eames knew he cared about her and that he always had, but she never knew how deeply he cared. She never knew how much he loved her, and even now, she didn't know the extent of it. He wasn't even certain he knew.

His partnership with Eames was the longest, most positive relationship of his life, and the thought that it could be ending was unbearable. Struggle as he had to keep it professional, it had taken a turn Christmas morning, a turn he had neither anticipated nor intended. Now, he had no real idea what the status of their relationship was. For weeks, he had been struggling to get a grip on it and he'd failed miserably.

"D-do you want to stay tonight?"

"That all depends on you," she answered.

"Alex...I-I don't know how...to let you in, and I can't let you go. So where does that leave me?"

If she left, the weight of his life would crush him. Without her to steady him, his life would spiral out of control even more than it already was. Without her to remind him that there actually was a life out there worth living, he would self-destruct.

But his other option, to let her in, was so foreign to him he had no idea how to go about doing it. The inner part of himself, the part she wanted access to, was hidden behind defenses so secure no one had ever breached them. Not even his mother could see his pain, if she cared enough to look, which, sadly, she did not.

But, somehow, Alex seemed to sense it. She caught the raw emotion that sometimes seeped past his ability to control it. She seemed to have a rudimentary understanding of the turmoil and pain that tortured him and ate at his soul. And she wanted to soothe that pain for him, to ease the hurt and cool the fire that consumed him, only to replace it with a different kind of fire...one he welcomed.

His voice was not much more than a whisper. "T-tell me how..." he pleaded. "H-how can I let you...How can you help me?"

Finally, she realized with a sigh of relief, he was reaching out to her. She took the last bite of her sandwich and finished her drink. It did not escape her notice that he still had not touched his food. With concern, she realized she could not remember the last time he'd actually eaten lunch. For the first time since she'd known him, Bobby was more than just tired. He was soul-weary.

He went into the kitchen again, and she heard the sound of glass hitting glass. When he reappeared in the doorway, there was a freshly opened bottle in his hand, and she wondered just how much he was drinking these days. She silently chastised herself for not noticing before how out of control his life had gotten.

Rising from her chair, she took her dishes into the kitchen and set them in the sink. She could feel his eyes on her; she always knew when he was watching her. She stopped beside him in the doorway. "You can talk to me," she said softly. "That's where we need to start. You need to be honest, with yourself and with me. Can you do that?"

"I-I don't know. But I can try."

It was a start. Leaning up, she pressed her lips against his cheek. His eyes slid closed and some of the weary tension eased from him. He turned his face toward her, easing her lips into full contact with his. When she pulled back, he let her step away.

She took his hand and led him to the couch. He collapsed onto it, rubbing his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose. She folded one leg beneath her and sat lightly beside him. She knew he had no idea where to start, that she would have to lead him through this, but she was fine with that. At least he was now willing to talk; he was no longer shutting her out.

Reaching out, she touched his arm, letting her hand slide from shoulder to wrist, and he seemed to relax a little more. So she placed her hand along his cheek, surprised at the warmth she found there. He'd been eating little, sleeping less, and drinking more. His body could not take much more of that abuse. It was time to put the brakes on his downward spiral, if it was not too late to save him.


	8. Shattered

She continued to lightly caress his cheek and he closed his eyes. Threading her fingers into his hair, she softly suggested, "You can talk to me, Bobby. Tell me how you feel."

He pulled away from her, got to his feet and exploded, "I don't even _know_ how I feel! I...don't know...what I'm _supposed_ to feel..."

He was all over the place, emotionally, and he needed help to target what he was feeling. He needed to let go of expectations and realize how he _actually_ felt about everything. Until he did, he would continue to spin in circles and spiral out of control. She watched him cruise around the room restlessly. She was careful to keep her voice gentle, non-confrontational. "Why do you think you have to live up to any one else's expectations? It's not what you're _supposed_ to feel...it's what you _do_ feel that I care about. And if you don't know how you feel, then you have to figure out some way to get in touch with your emotions."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

He shifted restlessly and moved away from the center of the room. Grabbing his beer, he drained the bottle. "I...I'm afraid...of what I feel, Alex. I...I'm afraid if I reach down that far...I won't like what I find...I won't...be able to control it."

He disappeared into the kitchen. She once again heard the sound of glass hitting glass, and the refrigerator opened. She sighed. He was still floundering every bit as much as he had been at Thanksgiving, but he seemed to have it more under control. She guessed that was because he had submerged it, burying it deep enough to keep it from getting away from him, like it had then. Of course, she'd given him more than a little push. She was trying not to do that now.

He wandered back into the living room with another beer, and she knew she had to get through to him soon. Dealing with his dying mother was most of what was dragging him down, but the stress of their falling out was weighing heavily on him as well. She dreaded the day when his mother finally passed away, wondering just how well-prepared he was for that. As she watched him continue his restless wandering around the living room, she was struck by a sudden fear that he would be left to deal with that alone. Whether he meant it or not, he was still pushing her away.

He wasn't responding to affection or gentle prodding. It was time to try a harder line. She got to her feet, shaking her head. "I'm going home, Bobby," she said as she stepped into her shoes. "I'll give you back your shirt tomorrow. If you ever get the inclination to stop hiding and really talk to me, try giving me a call. I'm tired of waiting."

He looked at her, and she was hard-hit by the turmoil in his face. It was rare that Bobby Goren ever panicked. "Please, Alex...d-don't. Don't leave."

It was a huge struggle for her to maintain her hard line. "Give me one good reason to stay. Just one."

He held his hands out, palms up, a gesture of surrender. "I'm _trying_. Forgive me if I don't know how to give you what you want. I don't fucking know how." He closed his eyes, took several steadying breaths, then looked at her again. "I'm losing my mother," he said miserably. "I don't want to...I _can't_...lose you, too. Please...I don't know how to let you help me."

She studied him, trying not to give in to the chaotic storm of emotion evident on his face. She had to reach him and he seemed only to respond to the threat of her departure. "You keep pushing me away..."

"I-I don't mean to...I swear." He ran a hand over his hair in agitation. "I...I only know that...I-I need you."

"That's it? That's all you have? I know you need me, damn it! What _I_ need is to hear what you're feeling. I _need_ you to reach into that well you fear so much and give me some good strong emotion. Stop burying what you feel and let me see it!"

He sat down on the couch she had vacated and set the beer on the table in front of him. Scrubbing his face with both hands, he slid them behind his head and stared at the floor. She had no idea what she was asking. "Despair," he groaned. "More than anything else, I feel despair. I feel like I have destroyed the only good thing in my life, and now...now I'm lost."

"Lost? Lost how?"

"Just...lost, Eames. There's nothing left for me when she dies. I've fucked up royally, driven you away, put my job on the line...I...I've lost...everything..."

"If you've lost me, then why the hell am I here? Why do you think I have put up with you the past few months? What makes you think you've lost me?"

"You've withdrawn from me...I...I can't reach you."

"No, Bobby. I haven't. You're the one who has withdrawn. You've pulled so far away from me that neither of us can reach the other. And you are too messed up inside to see it."

"S-so what do I do? I...I need to fix this."

"Seeing Skoda is a step in the right direction."

"Only...only if you will go with me. If not, there's no point."

She sighed heavily and returned to the couch beside him. "No, Bobby. There _is_ a point. You are dealing with so much right now. Your mother is dying, and that has hit you hard. You have been taking it out on everyone around you. It's no one's fault but yours that your badge is on the line. The only thing saving you right now is your solve rate..."

"No...not _my_ solve rate. _Our_ solve rate. I'm nothing without you."

"Oh, bullshit, Goren. I'm not a profiler. I can't get into their minds. You are the one who leads; I just follow. I trust your leaps of logic. That doesn't mean I understand them."

"But you ground me, Alex. You keep me firmly anchored in reality. Without you, I would have lost it long ago."

"I don't believe your psyche is that fragile, not for a moment."

He shook his head. "Not my psyche. My...focus...my grip on what's important. It would be too easy for me to lose myself in...other things. You don't let me do that. You give me a different focus, outside the dark minds I could so easily lose myself in."

"So what kept you focused before I came along?"

His sigh was heavy. "You have no idea how close to the edge I wandered before you came along. The rumors...they have a basis in reality, Alex. But that reality...changed when you became my partner. I had to be careful before that, because my mother still needed me."

"Your mother doesn't need you now?"

His agitation once again took hold and he got up to pace. She was getting tired just watching him, but she didn't say a word. He was finally starting to open up to her and she was not going to take any risk of shutting him down again. "It-it's different. Sh-she blames me for her condition now. She says I could have...done more for her, prevented this from happening. Sh-she thinks I'm in league with the doctors...and they're making her sick. I...I can't fucking do _anything_ right these days...with her or with you. I..I'm-I'm tired, Alex. I'm so damn tired."

She had no idea. She knew his mother was being unfair to him, pulling him too hard in her direction and destroying his focus on the job. She also knew she could be very difficult, because of her schizophrenia. But she had no idea she blamed him for everything, and she wondered how closely that fit into the pattern of his life. It explained his tendency to accept blame for everything. "Bobby, come here. Sit down."

He hesitated, but finally gave in and did as she asked. She reached out and let her hand caress his hair. She had no idea how much she had been contributing to his downfall. He'd stumbled over the edge, and she'd let him go. Now he was facing rock bottom, closer to it than he had ever been, and if she didn't do something now, he was going to hit, hard. She softly kissed his cheek. "What can I do, Bobby? How can I help to make this right for you?"

"I...I don't know. I'm not sure anything can be made right."

"Of course it can. I am not going anywhere. We can fix this."

Turning his head, he studied her for a long time. She could tell he was thinking, although she couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking about. So she waited until he spoke. "Are...are you afraid...of Ross?"

She snorted. "What?"

"Are you afraid he might find out...if we...you know?"

She laughed. "Are you fifteen?"

His mouth twitched. "Not even close."

"I don't give a damn what Ross thinks. What we do outside the office is none of his business."

"But...he can split us up. I...I don't know if I could take that."

"He won't. He never knows what to expect from you, Bobby. He won't upset the status quo. He trusts me to...keep you in line."

"So...why have you...been so, uh, stressed...since...Christmas?"

"You have had me stressed for months. I want to help you, but it kills me when you push me away."

He looked at his hands and she searched for some way to reassure him. Dipping her face down toward his, she whispered, 'Trust me."

With a soft groan, he turned toward her, capturing her lips in a desperate kiss. She melted into his arms, but still felt him hold back. He was still afraid. She buried her hands in his hair, parting her lips to accept his probing tongue. She could feel his desperation, but the only thing she could think of to do was respond to him.

He felt her relax in his arms, and he read that as permission to continue. When he slid his hand under the bulky sweatshirt and came into contact with soft skin, she groaned. He pushed her back onto the couch; she offered no resistance. He felt his control slipping, but he wasn't certain he should let go. The last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt her any more than he already had. So he held back, ministered to her needs and placed his own on the back burner.

She couldn't understand why he was holding back, but the thought soon left her mind as he continued to touch and caress her. Her mind shut down and her body responded to him. When she came back to herself, he began to withdraw, but she refused to let him. He was not going to run away from her again, if she could help it. This time she pushed him toward a different goal. This time, she pushed him to let go, to give himself over to her entirely. And she continued to push, caressing, nipping, sucking, until she felt his reserve slide away.

He was much rougher than she anticipated. She was going to get an apology; she knew it. In the heat of the moment, though, she didn't care. She loved him with abandon, making it acceptable for him to do the same. Christmas morning, he'd been tender and affectionate, focused on her needs and desires instead of his own. Now she was pushing him to meet his own needs, to satiate his own desire.

His climax came hard and fast, and he buried his face in her neck with a deep groan. As his heart rate and breathing returned to normal, he turned away from her. She watched him close and zip his jeans, and still he refused to look at her. "Bobby...?"

Finally, he turned his head to meet her eyes, and all she could see was remorse and pain. "I...I am so sorry..." he muttered.

"Don't..." she began but he waved her off.

"Y-you deserve so much better," he groaned. "I'm sorry."

Before she could stop him, he was out the door. Furious, she grabbed his still-full beer bottle and threw it at the door, where it shattered...and she wondered if that was the true state of their relationship...shattered.


	9. Her Ultimatum

She was at a loss over what to do. _It's his natural tendency to withdraw from the things that pain him._ Okay, she got that. She learned long ago what Skoda put into succinct terms: withdrawal was a coping mechanism for Bobby. Only right now she was at a loss to imagine what he was withdrawing from. Okay, so he was a little rough. That didn't mean she hadn't loved every second of it. Sometimes, rough play was something she actually craved. But there was no way he could know that. Over the years thay had discussed many things, but sex was not one of those things. How awkward would _that_ have been?_ The method of homicide was death by slow torture. By the way, how would you like to torture me..._ Uh, huh...that would _never_ have sent him into a tail spin. Right.

With a heavy sigh, she leaned back into the couch cushion and made up her mind. She was going to be stubborn. Dammit, they were going to resolve this or she was never going to leave this apartment. Everything else be damned. There were some things in life that took top priority, and right now he was her top priority. But she needed some advice about the best way to proceed without driving him further away. Talking wasn't doing it. She pulled a card from her back pocket and dialed the number on the front. Ten minutes later she was connected to the man she felt best able to advise her. "Hello, Dr. Skoda. This is Alex Eames."

_What can I do for you, Alex?_

"You can help me. You told me to talk to Bobby and see how he responds. Well, that turned out to be a disaster. What else do you have?"

_What happened?_

"He panicked when I threatened to leave and he finally talked to me."

_That doesn't sound like a disaster._

"Oh, there's more. I got him to start talking about how he feels, and about his mother, and he feels like he can't do anything right these days. His mother is hypercritical of him and it's hard for him to deal with always feeling like he's wrong. I got him to trust me, and then I got him to finally let go and address his own needs. And he freaked out on me and took off."

_What needs, Alex?_ When she hesitated, he assured her, _Whatever you tell me goes no further. Not to your captain or even to Bobby unless you want him to know. Talk to me._

"His...physical needs. I thought if he addressed those, it would be easier to get access to his emotional ones."

_That was a good thought, but your partner is much more complicated than that. What exactly sent him running?_

"I think he thought...uh, he thought he was too rough with me."

_Was he?_

"No. I mean, he was a little rough, yes, but it was fine. He never gave me a chance to say anything, though. He just took off. God, he's a lot of work."

_You knew that, Alex._

"I know, I know."

_Is he worth continuing to work at?_

"Of course he is. I am partly responsible for the state his mind is in right now. I need to fix it."

_That's important. What did he say when he left?_

"He said I deserve better and he apologized. That's all."

_Do you have any idea where he went?_

"Maybe. There's a bar down the street. He already had too much of a head start to drive anywhere."

_You're certain he wouldn't drive?_

"He may not give a damn about himself right now, but he won't endanger anyone else."

_Go find him. See if you can convince him to talk some more. Get tough with him, if you have to. You have to get through to him, and I'm afraid no one else can accomplish that. He trusts you and he loves you. He won't talk to anyone else._

"I'll try."

_That's all you can do, Alex. Call me if you need me. And I want you both to come in Friday morning at 10. Don't wait until next week._

"Thank you, Dr. Skoda."

* * *

She wasn't wrong. She found him at the bar, sullen and withdrawn, angry at himself. She slid onto the stool beside him and ordered a vodka martini. She faced the bar and rested her arms, folded, on the smooth wood in front of her. When she glanced in his direction, she wasn't surprised to find his attention focused on his glass, which was still half full. _Talk or touch?_ she wondered. _If I talk, will he ignore me? If I touch him, he's likely to fall off the damn stool. Talk._

"What the hell am I going to do with you?" she asked quietly.

"Let me go, Alex."

"I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Can you let me go?" She turned her head to see that he had closed his eyes. _No, don't touch him yet._ "Can you?"

"You know I can't."

"All right then. Don't expect me to do something you can't do."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I-I love you. That's how."

"And you don't think I love you? Are you really that screwed up that you can't see something right in front of you?"

"Is it love, Eames, or is it guilt?"

_Get tough with him, if you have to._ "Bite me, Goren. I'm done playing games with you." She took a long drink. "Why is it so damn hard for you to accept what I'm offering? Why can't you see that I do love you? Anybody else would have given up on you a long time ago. But here I am, heart on my damn sleeve, trying to keep you from self-destructing and drowning in a well of fucking self-pity. God damn you, Bobby." She looked at him. "It shouldn't have to hurt, loving you. And I'm not talking about what happened before. You didn't hurt me, you idiot. As a matter of fact, it was pretty damn good. Great, if you want the honest-to-God truth. But you don't want to hear that. So I'll tell you what you apparently do want to hear. I can't take much more from you. Either you want me to stick around or you don't. The choice is yours. I'm going back up to your apartment right now. I'm going to stay there until morning. If you want me to stay--as your lover _and_ as your partner--you'll be there before I go. I'll give you until I walk out the door, because once I go, I won't be back. So if you really want to stay here, fine. I wish you wouldn't, but I won't stop you. What I think doesn't seem to matter to you. So, whatever you decide to do, you have until daybreak to figure it out. If you come up, we'll talk it out and get everything settled. We'll be okay, I promise. If not, then I'm done. For good. And you have no one to blame but your own damn self. Good night, Bobby."

She finished her martini and slid off the stool. She could feel his eyes on her as she left, but what he couldn't see were the tears she could no longer hold back. It was the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do, walking out of that bar. It took every ounce of will power she had to walk away. It took even more not to look back. _Damn it, Bobby. It shouldn't hurt this fucking bad._

Once she hit the street, she turned in the direction of his apartment building, and she ran.


	10. Temptation

She was stunning, and he noticed her. Tall, with long dark hair and olive skin, she was the kind of woman who made other women look awkward. He watched her slide gracefully onto the stool beside him and his body reacted when the light, musky scent of her perfume wafted over him. He could tell by her body language that she was very interested. She kept glancing toward him, waiting for him to speak. Her upper body leaned slightly in his direction. She was a woman used to masculine attention. He would have bet money that it was a rare occurance for her to actually buy her own drinks. Her eyes flittered over his body, coming to rest somewhere between his knees and his waist. He noticed. After a moment, her eyes strayed up to meet his. They were warm and welcoming, seductive, and he felt drawn to her. Her smile would melt a glacier. She exuded a confidence and a raw sexuality that was rare in any person. She was not new to the bar scene.

She continued to look at him, and his body continued to rebel against his mind. She ran a perfect pink tongue over full red lips and he groaned to himself. His mind wandered over what that tongue could do...

Six months ago, he would have talked to her. He would have charmed her and then gone home with her. A couple drinks more and he'd do that tonight. But he looked away.

He slid off the stool and pulled out his wallet. He handed several twenties to the bartender. "Get the lady started, Stan." He gave her a sad smile of regret. "Good night."

It had started to rain again and he walked in the rain. The cold, wetness did him a world of good. It sobered him up and calmed his body down. Dark and seductive was nice. She would have been a great time. But he had something better. He had stability at a time when his life was anything but stable. He had a woman of understated beauty and unexpected passion. Memories of what had transpired before he'd left the apartment heated his body once again and he swore at himself. It _was pretty damn good...great, if you want the honest-to-God truth..._ Was she being honest or kind? Anything that tall, dark and seductive could do to his body, Alex could do better, because she had the added benefit of owning his heart. Nothing could compete with that. Seduction and passion led to sex, and that could be an amazing experience. He was used to sex and he enjoyed it. But with Alex, it was more than sex and more than amazing. With her it was love, and that was a new experience for him. As obvious as it was what dark-and-sensual wanted from him, and as convinced as he was that she could more than satisfy him physically, he craved more than that now. He needed a connection, and the only one he connected with was Alex. He headed for home.

* * *

She heard the key in the door, and she was surprised that it slid into the lock on the first try. When the door opened and he walked in, his steadiness also surprised her. He dropped his keys on the table beside the door and turned toward the couch. She could not express her relief that he had come home. This wasn't over yet; they still had a way to go. But she had thrown down the gauntlet and he had picked it up. She was afraid he was going to cast it aside, but he hadn't. She watched him. He was soaking wet and not entirely steady on his feet, but she expected worse. "Um...I...I'm going to change." He indicated his wet clothes. 

Her gut roiled at the possibility he was going to go back out. "Are you home to stay?"

He nodded and headed back to the bedroom. She waited for him. She relaxed when he came back out wearing sweats. She was even more relieved when he dropped onto the other end of the couch and did not go into the kitchen for another beer. "Uh, what are you watching?"

He was striving for normalcy and she gave him that much. "_The Notebook_. I found it on one of your movie channels."

"Bittersweet."

"It fit my mood."

He looked at his hands. "Sorry."

Now she felt bad, and she had no reason to. She wasn't in the wrong this time, although she admitted her role in the events that led them to where they were. She wasn't always in the right, but at this moment, she was. She looked at him as he made several false starts to speak, but she refused to make this easy for him right now. He knew where she stood; she had been as clear about that as she knew how to be. It was his turn.

He shifted uncomfortably, oddly unnerved by her. He had no reason to be uncomfortable around her, and he never used to be, but things had changed. _He_ had changed, without ever realizing he had, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. Remembering how rough he had been with her earlier, he was inclined to think not, but she said she had enjoyed it, and now he had no idea what to think.

He had always been one to let the lady dictate the pace and intensity, and he could not explain what had come over him. He was never passive, and he always delivered whatever it was his current partner wanted; he had done that with her. But then she had to keep going, to overwhelm him in a way she never had before. She had to push him past his ability to keep things in check. Thinking about it now, though, the release had been a long time in coming. It was something he'd really needed, and he was amazed that she seemed to sense that. Maybe their connection really did go two ways. Maybe she could sense his needs as readily as he could sense hers. He was so used to one way connections he didn't quite know what to do with this one.

So what about now? Could she feel his uncertainty the way he could feel hers? What was the right thing to do now? She had made her play; it was his turn. She had given him everything she was willing to give. Now he had to give something in return. "Would-would you really have done it?"

"Done what?"

"Left...like you said?"

She wouldn't look at him. Quietly, she said, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Do not turn this back on me, Goren. You're the one who left first. You were the one who ran away. I was just going to let you keep going if that was what you wanted to do."

"Oh."

"I'm not playing games any more. You need to own up to your feelings and deal with them. You have to quit running away from everything, especially yourself. If you can't manage that, let me help you. I am not going to turn my back on you unless you force me to...and if that happens I won't be around to pick up the pieces."

"I've pushed you that far away?"

"No, idiot. You've drawn me in that close. I will not stand by and watch you fall apart, Bobby. If you won't let me help you, then I can't stay around to watch what happens. It won't be pretty. Leaving you would break my heart. Watching you self-destruct would kill me."

He closed his eyes, propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose. An image of the woman in the bar came forth, unbidden. Interacting with her would be so much easier. He wouldn't really have to talk at all, and his body reacted to the thought of action with no words. But then, another image chased it away...the image of his partner, laying beneath him, her face moist and flushed, her breathing ragged, heart rate skyrocketing...

He felt her move from her end of the couch, catching his breath when gentle fingers threaded into his wet hair. He sighed softly and turned his face toward her. Kneeling on the couch beside him, she softly said, "What are you feeling?"

"A hundred things," he muttered in reply, his voice husky as he let his hand come to rest on her hip. "I can't sort it out right now."

"Try," she encouraged. "Let's start with your mother."

"Can I start with you?"

She laughed, feeling better than she had in a long time at the playful spark that had been so long absent from his eyes. She kissed him softly and repeated, "Let's start with your mother or we won't get anything done."

She felt his hand move down to slip past the hem of the sweatshirt she'd put back on when she got back from the bar. In retrospect, she realized she probably should have stopped him right then, but she thought she could handle it. As his hand came into contact with her skin, he answered her. "I don't know what to feel about her. I...I don't want to lose her, and I can't explain why it's so hard for me to let her go."

His fingers were gently stroking her side, easing their way closer to her chest. He could have had this conversation with her but for two things, and avoidance, for a change, was not one of them. The first reason was that he'd simply had too much to drink to concentrate properly on a serious conversation. The second reason got started when exotic and seductive slid onto the barstool beside him and supercharged his desire for his partner.

His thumb caressed the side of a small breast and she groaned, her train of thought heading out of the station at breakneck speed. Before she could stop herself, she covered his mouth with hers and straddled his lap. "I thought you wanted to talk," he muttered into her mouth.

"Shut up and keep kissing, dammit," she muttered back, shifting her hips against him to force a deep moan from his throat.

She didn't have to tell him twice.

* * *

She wanted to finish her movie, and he was reluctant to leave her, even to go as far as the bedroom. So she lounged in the corner of the couch with his head in her lap and played with his hair while he slept. Okay, maybe they should have talked some more before getting physical again, but she realized she wasn't going to get too much out of him tonight. She'd call Ross in the morning and let him know they wouldn't be in; he'd be okay with that, she was certain. He had a sense of how unsettled and on the edge Bobby was, and he trusted her to settle him. Ah, if he only knew... 

Which presented another problem...Ross was not Deakins. If this had happened on Jimmy Deakins' watch, she felt certain he would have let it slide had he ever found out. She did not trust that Ross would be so accomodating. Where Deakins had been fine with giving Goren the leeway he required to get the job done, Ross preferred a more by-the-book approach and Bobby was bucking under the yoke of that restraint. But little by little, Ross was learning that her eccentric partner worked best when left alone. He got the job done in his own way. Somehow, though, she doubted Danny Ross would overlook _this_.

So there was one solution and only one: Ross could never find out--just what their relationship needed: new stress. With a sigh, she looked down at her sleeping lover. _Lover_...she had to get used to thinking of him in that way, and she was finding out that it really wasn't all that difficult. She'd been _wanting_ to think of him like that for years. Was having, ultimately, so great a thing as wanting? No, it wasn't. It was oh, so much better...

* * *

**A/N: My muse toyed with the idea of adding a new dimension of conflict by letting him go home with tall, dark and exotic, but ultimately I decided I didn't really want to see Confused implode. So I took it the other way (you are welcome). And, yes, there is more to come...**


	11. Broken

**A/N: This story has been stuck for months. I guess that's the price we pay when we ignore the muse. So I decided to take this in a different direction. First, I deleted chapters 11 and 12. They just were not getting me anywhere. I considered revising chapter 10, to let him go home with exotic and sexy, like the muse wanted in the first place, but I decided against that, too, and left chapter 10 untouched. Now, before everyone freaks out and goes all ballistic on me because of the way this one ends, I want to assure you all that I am beginning work on a sequel, based on an Air Supply song, _Here I Am_. Remember that Choices started with Air Supply, too. So...it's something everyone can actually look forward to. And this ending is better than the other one that occurred to me. At least this one can be resolved outside of a cemetery...**

* * *

Goren slept late the next day, waking up just past noon, still on the couch. He was not surprised to find the apartment empty, and he didn't wonder where Eames had gone. He had accepted her ultimatum and he came home. She'd wanted to talk; he had not. He still had no desire to discuss his life with anyone, not even with her. The difficulties of his past were his alone to bear, as was his mother's terminal illness and approaching death. He wasn't sure how much time the chemo was going to buy her, although he knew she was angry with him for subjecting her to it. He just...he was not prepared to lose her. And the rest of his life was in jeopardy because of it. 

He poured himself a glass of orange juice and returned to the couch. His mind wandered into the past, following the course of his mother's illness and the impact it had had on his life. As a young child, in the early days of her illness, he had been confused, wondering what he had done to cause his mother to stop loving him. He also wondered why the demons didn't come after Frank as often as they did him. As he entered his teen years, he came to understand that his mother was sick, and he began to research schizophrenia once he realized it had a name. But understanding had not made it any easier to handle. So he began to experiment with alcohol and marijuana, finding some escape with them. Sometimes he smoked and drank with Frank, whose usage far exceeded his own and began to branch off into cocaine and amphetamines. He never went that route after seeing how messed up it made his brother. So he drifted away from Frank, spending more and more time with Lewis. He graduated from high school at seventeen and turned eighteen two months later. He'd had a few minor run-ins with the police, but nothing in any police station was more frightening than his mother when she went off her medicine, which was often. Her non-compliance compounded her disease. He went to college and worked hard to earn his degree in three years, in spite of some more minor scrapes with the law, usually in collaboration with Lewis.

His mother entered into a period of relative stability when Frank made an appearance, broke and jobless. That did not keep his mother from praising his resourcefulness for coming home to get on his feet. Bobby had had enough. Nothing he ever did was good enough for her. The worse thing he had ever done was to be born different from his brother. He joined the Army, where he was put into law enforcement. The Army was the turning point of his life, and Declan Gage had turned a potential screw-up into a brilliant investigator. Dec had always said he could have gone either way, and taking the young, out-of-control cop under his wing had straightened him out. Bobby was the son he had always wanted but never had. Bobby liked his young daughter Jo, but by and large, neither he nor Declan had paid too much attention to the girl. That was a mistake that had come back to haunt him with a vengeance.

He had loved the Army, but Frank was unreliable at best and, after twelve years in service, he was forced to leave when Frank took off and his mother attempted suicide. Somehow, that had been his fault. He came home but the Army had taught him to love law enforcement. Dec had brought forth his profiling skills and he had found his niche. He joined the NYPD. After graduating from the Academy at the top of his class, he was forced to make his mother a permanent resident of Carmel Ridge.

He excelled as a cop, but his past continued to haunt him. He had trouble keeping partners because of his unusual approach to, well, everything. He had never professed to be conventional, but he did get results. Unfortunately, that wasn't good enough for most of his partners. There were two who had seemed willing to stick it out, but one had been killed in the line of duty during a stake out and the other had taken an early retirement after a crippling injury. He had never forgiven himself for those accidents, even though he had in no way contributed to either. In fact, his actions had saved the life of the partner who had lived and he had received a commendation for that. It meant nothing to him, although his mother had kept the framed citation. He never could figure out why. She constantly berated his choice of a career; his brilliance was wasted as a cop when he could have been a scientist like his brother. Well, he wasn't an alcoholic or a drug addict either, and he had not been unemployed since he was sixteen, but that didn't matter, not in her mind.

Then came his transfer to Major Case, a reward for his four years in Narcotics, and ultimately, his partnership with Eames. And she stayed. Why, he had no idea, but she did, and he was grateful for her. He would do almost anything for her, except for the one thing she seemed to want the most. He could not open up to her. He had no idea how to, and he was terrified that the monsters in his past would consume her and prove to be too difficult for her to handle. So he kept his past locked inside his head and his pain sequestered in his heart, not allowing her access to either. It was for her own good, after all. But she still resented it, and he began to resent her for that as well.

When she returned to the apartment after spending the morning at her house, she tried to get him to open up to her, but fully sober, he closed himself off. He had never let anyone in, and he had no intention of starting. A week and a half later, they met Mark Ford Brady.

* * *

Emil Skoda leaned back in his chair and studied the couple in his office. She was sitting in a chair near his desk. He was standing across the room, looking out the window. He had been remote for weeks, and Skoda wasn't sure there was much more he could do for them. They seemed to be at an impasse. They were shutting down on one another, driven by his withdrawal. What amazed the doctor most was their ability to function so well as a team at work while their personal relationship was disintegrating. "Bobby, how is your mother?" 

Caught off-guard by the sudden question, Goren turned from the window to look at the doctor. His eyes shifted to Eames and then back. "She...decided to stop her treatments. She has...a few weeks, at best."

Skoda looked at Eames, who was watching her partner. "Did you know that, Alex?"

"Yes."

"So how do you feel about it, Bobby?"

Goren stared at him. "About my mother dying?"

"It's a technicality. Didn't you say she's been slipping away from you all your life?"

"So this is supposed to be easy for me?"

"I didn't say that. You're defensive and belligerent right now. Why is that?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You never do," Eames accused.

"Don't start," he growled.

"Why don't you get that I just want to help you?" she demanded, unconsciously raising her voice in frustration. "I'm tired of always being on the outside looking in with you. I'm tired of trying to guess what you're feeling. If all you want is a fuck buddy, Bobby, maybe you need to look somewhere else. Because I need more from you."

The words were out before she could stop them. He stared at her, hurt. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I feel."

He ran a hand over his hair, and Skoda could tell he was on the verge of bolting. His agitation was getting the better of him and he was feeling overwhelmed. "Bobby, you need to separate your emotions. Try not to project your anger and frustration with your mother onto Alex."

"The case we're working doesn't help matters any," Eames commented.

Skoda raised his eyebrows curiously. "Go on."

"Mark Ford Brady," she said. "He has some fascination with Bobby we haven't figured out. It's unsettling."

"Bobby?"

Goren shrugged. "We're learning about victims that were never found, bringing closure to their families."

"What about Brady's interest in you?"

"What about it?"

Skoda looked at Eames. "Alex?"

"It seems personal. I don't like it."

Goren waved her off. "What's the problem? It's not the first time I've offered myself up to get justice."

"It's more than that, dammit! His interest..."

"...is irrelevant. We...we're bringing closure to families, Eames. They deserve to know."

"At what cost, Bobby?"

He waved his hand in the air. "He's going to die at the end of the week. I can handle it."

Skoda watched him. "Can you?"

The dark look that settled on his face disturbed Eames. But before he could lash out at either of them, his phone rang. Pulling it out, he looked at the caller ID before he answered it, saying only, "Hold on for a minute."

He looked at Skoda. "I have to go."

Glancing at Eames, his eyes held a brief apology. He headed out the door as he put the phone up to his ear. "Yes?"

The door slid closed and Eames shook her head. "How did I lose him?"

"You didn't. He retreated too far for even you to reach."

"So what do I do?"

"There is nothing you can do, Alex."

"He's never going to open up to me, is he?"

"No. He's not. If you can accept that, then there is a chance you can salvage your relationship. If not, then you are going to lose him for good. You are asking him to do something he simply cannot do. He has everything locked away so securely, he doesn't know how to turn it loose."

She crossed her arms in front of her, hurt and angry and determined not to break down over it. He had caused her enough pain. She simply could not handle any more. She would remain his partner, but the rest of their relationship was not salvageable. It was over.

* * *

Six months after his mother died, he was gone. He had not discussed it with her at all. She came in one morning to find his desk cleared out and a single rose in the middle of her desk with a brief note of apology: _I can't handle this any more. Everything in my life has fallen apart around me, and it's time for me to make a fresh start. Never doubt that I love you, but it's better this way. Trust me, like you always did with everything, except your heart. I am sorry, most of all, for the pain I caused you. Maybe now things will be better for you._

She had no idea where he went, and she decided not to look. He had hurt her enough. So she moved on with her life and sequestered the memory of him into a corner of her heart that was irreparably broken.

_I lose my way  
And it's not too long before you point it out  
I cannot cry  
Because I know that's weakness in your eyes  
I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh  
Every day of my life  
My heart can't possibly break  
When it wasn't even whole to start with..._

_Because of you  
I never stray too far from the sidewalk  
Because of you  
I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt  
Because of you  
I tried my hardest just to forget everything  
Because of you  
I don't know how to let anyone else in  
Because of you  
I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty  
Because of you  
I am afraid  
Because of you  
Because of you _


End file.
